


Once More to See You

by brideofquiet



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky is a gym rat, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, I'm all out of tags how do some of y'all have like one billion, M/M, Natasha is a mind-reader, Or at least we shot for humor, Soft Stucky Week, Steve is a cardio enthusiast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brideofquiet/pseuds/brideofquiet
Summary: Treadmill Guy is a problem. Not a problem to be solved, but a problem to be steadily ignored until it shrinks into nothingness and stops being a bother. Unfortunately for Bucky, people don’t come to the gym because they’re trying to shrink away into nothingness. People generally come to the gym to get bigger, which is what he was doing until Treadmill Guy walked in one day and ruined all of his (fitness-related) hopes and dreams.Or: what to do when an unusually handsome cardio enthusiast named Steve starts coming to your gym, the Bucky Barnes how-to.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've ever published on AO3! Not a big deal, but it's big for me. 
> 
> A public thank you is in order for my wonderful beta/best friend, Maxine, who always listens patiently when I spout off about Captain America and who supports me in everything that's good for me.

Treadmill Guy is a problem. Not a problem to be solved, but a problem to be steadily ignored until it shrinks into nothingness and stops being a bother. Unfortunately for Bucky, people don’t come to the gym because they’re trying to shrink away into nothingness. People generally come to the gym to get bigger, which is what he was doing until Treadmill Guy walked in one day and ruined all of his (fitness-related) hopes and dreams.

Let’s set the scene: Bucky is working out. To be more specific, he’s using one of those machines with the pulleys and the weights. You know, the things with the stuff. Anyway, he doesn’t know what they’re called but he knows how to use them and he’s using one. He pulls the bar over his head down rhythmically, counting reps under his breath.

It’s all very zen. Or as zen as weight-lifting can get, anyway. He’s seen some of the yoga classes through the window which are supposed to actually be zen, but honestly? All those women (and some men) are incredible and intimidating. Who can just … do that, with their legs? Anyways. Weight-lifting, zen.

Bucky closes his eyes sometimes, to really concentrate. Maybe it’s mind-body connectedness, maybe he just doesn’t want to make eye contact with the dude doing leg curls ten feet away. Gyms are kind of weird.

So: arm machine thing, eyes closed, zen.

Bucky opens his eyes towards the end of a set, breathing through the last few reps. He’s positioned across from the front desk, so that’s where his gaze naturally lands. Most days, that would be fine. Today? There is a man. He leans over the counter, signing something. That is about as far as Bucky’s brain can process what he’s seeing before the man straightens and turns to look out across the room, hands on his hips and smiling faintly like a monarch looking out across his kingdom.

The bar slides right out of Bucky’s hands.

The weights slam down with a rattling clank, and the dude at the leg curl machine startles like Bucky threw one at him. Bucky freezes, hands in midair like the man at the desk is trying to arrest him or something. Cardiac arrest, maybe.

But the guy doesn’t notice, just cranks the wattage up on his smile when he eyes the back half of the room dedicated to cardio equipment. He starts to head over there, and Bucky starts to regain control of his motor functions and breathing.

“Hey man, you gonna sit there all day or move on?” It’s leg curl guy, who apparently is intent on becoming arm bar pull-down thing guy now. Bucky gets up, wipes down the machine quickly, and moves on.

He doesn’t intentionally pick a machine that gives him a full view of the cardio equipment. It’s more of a happy accident.

When Bucky finishes adjusting the weights and looks up to the treadmills, the man is just … going for it. Jesus. Now, Bucky abhors cardio – hates it, loathes it, only does it when he absolutely has to kind of bone-deep contempt – but he’s pretty sure you’re supposed to like … warm up or something first, right? Right? You don’t just start sprinting immediately.

But that’s what the guy is doing. And he’s cut like a damn diamond, so far be it from Bucky to correct his workout routine.

By the time Bucky’s finished with his workout, Treadmill Guy has slowed down but is still going at it. Bucky feels a strange mixture of impressed by and worried about the guy. Anyone who runs that hard for that long is either just seriously committed to cardiovascular health, or he’s working through some shit. Whichever it is, Bucky hopes Treadmill Guy doesn’t hurt himself.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Bucky’s all ready to go. He leaves the locker room and looks towards the treadmills, but the man has disappeared. Good, maybe he’s actually taking a breather. Bucky squashes the disappointment scraping at the bottom of his chest. _It’s not like you would’ve said hi or anything anyway, pal_ , he thinks while opening the door to the crisp fall air.

That’s how it started, and Bucky is nothing if not a creature of habit, so that’s pretty much how it’s been ever since the first day. Bucky comes to the gym and goes through his rotation of the machines. Sometimes Treadmill Guy is there already, running and glistening ever so gently under the fluorescents. Sometimes he gets there after Bucky. For some reason he always takes a minute to look over the whole gym, like he’s trying to decide what to do, but he always goes straight for the treadmill so Bucky’s not really sure what’s up with that. It reminds him of _The Lion King_ , though. Everything the light touches, Simba…

Bucky looks up and he’s sitting right under a light fixture. Nice.

Another thing that’s the same every time: Bucky can never focus properly when he’s around. It’s not like he’s dropping weights all over the place or anything, he just can’t get out of his own head. That doesn’t exactly endear Treadmill Guy to him, considering he comes to the gym for a reason. But it’s not the dude’s fault that he’s so distracting. Or maybe it is. Seriously, though, how does he stay so jacked when all he ever does is run? Does he have another gym devoted to lifting?

After a few weeks of unfocused workouts, Bucky gets frustrated with himself. He tries coming at different times, on different days, but Treadmill Guy apparently lives at the gym now. He’s always there. Bucky might consider switching gyms if he didn’t like looking at the guy so much, but also, no. He won’t get run out of his gym, especially by some triangular cardio nut. A beautifully triangular, wonderfully golden cardio nut.

But he has to do something. He’s in danger of losing hard-earned tone.

So he goes to yoga.

And he likes it.

That’s due in large part to the stellar instructor, who is scary in a way that makes you genuinely want to try harder. She’s tiny and redheaded, with a strange ability to preach self-love and connectedness while simultaneously critiquing your form. The biggest benefit of her classes, though, is that they take place in a room on the second floor where he cannot see Treadmill Guy at all.

He’s toweling off after his first class – who knew yoga was that intense? – when the tiny redhead walks up to him. Bucky pulls the towel roughly down over his face, opening his eyes to see her standing right in front of him.

“You’ve never done yoga before,” she says before he has the chance to do much more than inhale.

“Um,” he says, not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment or anything at all.

She saves him from having to think about it too hard. “You did well today, but if you’re actually interested in developing your practice, you should start with my beginners’ classes. We go over the foundations and I give more in-depth instruction.” She doesn’t smile, but her eyes do this thing that gives Bucky the feeling she’s at least thinking about smiling. Or has thought about it at some point in her life, probably.

“Okay, thanks,” he says. “Is there a schedule?”

“The front desk can give you one,” she says. “My name’s Natasha.”

“I’m Bucky.”

Her eyebrow twitches up. “You need my name so you know which classes are mine,” Natasha says.

Bucky’s hands flex around the towel. Right. “Right.”

“See you in class, Bucky,” she drawls, waving once as she slinks out the door.

Why is everyone at this gym so weird and intense?

He keeps going to yoga, though. Like Natasha recommended, he takes the beginners’ classes which in what world is this level of difficulty considered beginning? Natasha does instruct a lot more, though, and the poses are difficult but achievable.

“Wrap your triceps towards the back of the room, and roll your shoulders away from your neck. Knit your ribcage together, drop your head to relax your neck. Good, now pedal your feet out one at a time.”

If Bucky collapses onto his mat at the end of practice for the first few classes, at least no one judges him for it. There’s actually a name for that – _shavasana_. Definitely a different vibe than the rest of the gym.

It’s a shame Natasha only teaches the beginners’ level classes twice a week. Without Treadmill Guy visible to distract him, he’s actually been able to focus on himself and his body during workouts again. He also enjoys the practice itself; the change of pace is invigorating. Also sun salutations are a really nice way to start the day.

But it’s only two days out of the week, and Bucky is the terrible kind of person who goes to the gym six days every week. (Look, it’s an expensive gym and he has to get his money’s worth and also shut up he enjoys it.) On the other four days, it’s back to the regular floor and his regular routine getting regularly bowled over by how irregularly handsome Treadmill Guy is.

The solution to all of this may seem obvious: Just go talk to the guy, Bucky. Putting him on a pedestal only makes him more intimidating, Bucky. He’s just a dude, Bucky, what’s the harm in introducing yourself?

Yes, obvious solution, and don’t think he hasn’t thought about it. But the guy always seems so laser-focused on what he’s doing, even when he’s drinking water or wiping down the machine. Bucky’s starting to think that it’s definitely option two: he has some shit to work through, and Bucky wouldn’t want to distract him from that. He knows what that’s like. Besides, he hates getting hit on at the gym and so on principle he refuses to hit on anyone else at the gym. Treat others the way you want to be treated and all that.

Maybe he’ll run into him at the grocery store one day and he can hit on him in the frozen food aisle.

So it’s yoga two days a week with Natasha and trying really hard not to drop a weight on his foot the other four. No broken toes so far.

Eventually Bucky remembers that he is, in fact, supposed to go for a run at some point in his life. Going near the cardio equipment hasn’t even crossed his mind in a month, ever since Treadmill Guy started showing up. Natasha did say he’d need to up his cardio if he wanted to be able to keep up in the power yoga classes, though.

On a dreary Tuesday, he takes to a treadmill like a weary criminal approaching the guillotine. This will happen, and it will suck and it will hurt, but then it will be over.

On a dreary Tuesday, he learns that Treadmill Guy has an actual name.

Bucky runs methodically, focusing on the guy in his ear talking about the Supreme Court rather than the stitch in his side. He is so intent, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice when Treadmill Guy shows up and takes the machine for which he is named two down from Bucky.

Okay, well, he does notice, but not for like, thirty whole seconds. He doesn’t even trip when he catches sight of him because he knew he’d be here eventually. He deserves a damn trophy. Today, though, the man isn’t alone. There’s another man with him, and of course Treadmill Guy has hot friends. Because that’s how the world works, apparently.

The two of them joke around, stretching and jumping around which Bucky guesses is what passes for a warm-up in Ripped Dude Land. Treadmill Guy stretches both hands up over his head, and a few inches of those fabled abs peak out under the hem of his shirt. Bucky goes cross-eyed briefly but manages to retain his balance on the treadmill. Good, because can you imagine what it would be like to fall face first in front of the dude.

Treadmill Guy and Hot Friend mount their treadmills with a sense of gravity Bucky has only ever seen applied to running when he’s watching the Olympics. Once they’re running, it’s a little harder for Bucky to sneak glances at them, so he tries really hard to focus on what his podcast is saying about the Batson challenge. His brain tries to tell him that Hot Friend might be Hot Boyfriend. Whose side are you on, brain? Don’t you want us to be happy?

Running sucks, but like all things, it comes to an end. Bucky walks for a few minutes to cool down, then pulls out his headphones as he steps off the treadmill. And what he hears is quite possibly more shocking than the last hour of hearing how messed up the judicial system is.

Treadmill Guy and Hot Friend are having a conversation. While running. Who does that? Crazy people, that’s who. Bucky almost feels disgusted with them.

He’s not trying to eavesdrop, but if he hears what they’re saying as he walks to the locker room that really can’t be helped.

“How’s your mom, Sam?” Treadmill Guy asks, which like... hot _and_ considerate, can this get worse. He doesn’t even sound short of breath.

“She’s good, she’s good,” Hot Friend Sam says, with the courtesy to sound at least a little winded. “Wondering when you’re going to come back down for a visit, Steve.”

Steve! If Bucky’s name wasn’t Bucky, he might have the audacity to think, _What a stupid, punk ass name. Steve._

Steve laughs, and it’s like golden bells, and Bucky hustles through the door of the locker room like his life depends on it.

He sinks down on the bench, head in his hands to hide the dumb and insuppressible smile on his face. Steve. Oh, he’s totally sunk now.

Bucky doesn’t see Steve again for the next few days. The day immediately after the Great Name Reveal is a yoga day, so that was expected, but the next three times Bucky goes to the gym – no Steve. It’s good for his workout, but not good for his mood apparently. On the third day he forgets to wear shower shoes which is truly a sign of great emotional distress.

The next day he almost decides to skip yoga in favor of the machines, on the chance that Steve might actually show up today. But as he’s walking toward the rowing machine, Natasha appears out of nowhere and growls in his ear, “Don’t even think about it.” She grabs him by the arm and as good as drags him to the second floor studio. So much for yoga making you zen. Also, where did she even come from?

After class, though, Bucky approaches her at the front of the room. He makes himself look thoroughly sheepish. “Hey, sorry for almost skipping out on you today,” he says. “Thanks for making me come anyway.”

She doesn’t answer for a beat, just levels him with a stare that goes right through him. He’s a little afraid she might deck him despite the apology.

“You’re buying me an apology coffee,” Natasha says. She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder, striding past him in one fluid movement. She pauses, looking over her shoulder at him. “Now.”

“Yep, okay,” Bucky says and hurries after her. He gets the feeling if Natasha told him to walk off a bridge, she could make it seem like the thing to do; coffee’s not so bad by comparison.

There’s a little café just up the block from the gym. It’s all chrome and clean lines, too modern for Bucky’s taste but maybe not Natasha’s. She orders a house blend, black; he murmurs his order (caramel latte with extra whip) to the barista and pays for both. They sit by the window, and it’s the first time he’s felt like he could really look at her without fear of her popping one of his limbs out of socket. Or at least there’s less fear, and witnesses who might try to do something about it.

She looks right back at him. Or through him. Or into him.

“Sorry again,” he says.

“It’s alright,” she replies coolly. Bucky can’t decide if it’s actually alright or not. She might be planning to kill him. “Are you afraid of me?” she asks. Mind-reader! Her eyes do that thing where she’s thinking about smiling, just barely tightening at the corners.

“Maybe? Should I be?” Bucky’s not sure what her angle is here. He takes a sip of his latte.

“Maybe,” she says, “but you don’t have to be.”

“For a yoga instructor, you’re kind of terrifying, so.”

She actually cracks a smile! Holy shit her mouth does that! “I teach kickboxing, too.”

“Oh well now I completely understand you as a person,” Bucky retorts, smiling right back. Kickboxing, geez. Sounds kind of fun.

“Can I ask you something?” She takes a slow sip of her coffee.

“I get the feeling you’d ask it anyway,” he says in reply.

She purses her lips like she doesn’t like that. “Why did you start taking my classes?” she asks. Bucky sits back in his chair, brow pulling down as he considers. There’s the initial answer, Treadmill Guy Steve, which is probably the most accurate one but is kind of hard and definitely embarassing to explain. But in all honesty, that’s not the reason he kept going.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s personal,” Natasha says quietly. Bucky realizes he’s been staring out the window pensively for the better part of a minute. He snaps back to attention.

“Oh, no! I mean, it kinda is, but it’s fine,” he says hurriedly. She leans back in her seat, hands crossed on the table, expectant. “I went to the first one as kind of an – escape. And then I kept going because I liked it. I like it.” He shrugs. The latte’s almost gone.

“Good. What were you trying to escape?”

His face lights up with a blush. Natasha eyes him almost gleefully.

“Oh, you meant an actual escape from something specific,” she says.

Bucky’s a bit bug-eyed when he says, “What else would I mean?”

“Something more … metaphorical.”

He laughs, startled. “I could’ve lied, said I was going through some crisis.”

Natasha smiles inscrutably over her coffee. “You could have. I would have known, though.”

Mind-reader, right. “Right,” he says. She doesn’t press him for a more concrete answer.

With a new friend (maybe? sort of) and a new resolve, Bucky makes a decision on his next visit to the gym. He will run again today, and he will smile at Steve. He might even say hi, but he’s trying not to set the bar too high for himself.

Jesus, what happened to his game? He used to have such good game. Maybe you’re born with only so much and once you run out, you turn into a blushing pile of mush who can’t even tell a hot guy ‘hi’ without panicking. That theory makes him regret some college nights a lot more than he already does.

Anyways: running, smiling. These are manageable, achievable goals for a weekday.

Steve isn’t there when Bucky arrives, but Bucky knows which treadmill is his usual because he’s a creepy stalker who watches Steve like most people watch prestige dramas. So he takes the one adjacent to it and gets going. He even tries resolutely to enjoy himself.

Steve shows up about 10 minutes later. Bucky thinks they might be telepathically linked. But Steve doesn’t appear at his usual spot, and Bucky’s beginning to think his presence may have caused Steve to abandon it. But then he glances to his left, and there’s sunshine himself with one foot on the treadmill, leaning purposefully into Bucky’s eyeline. Where the shit did he even come from? Is everyone at this gym some kind of apparition, able to appear at will out of the ether? After the initial jolt of surprise, Bucky realizes that Steve is. Looking at him. Steve is looking at him and smiling pleasantly.

“Do you mind?” Steve mouths, pointing down at the equipment. Treadmill Guy is asking Bucky’s permission to use his favored treadmill. He’d laugh at the ridiculousness of it if he wasn’t running at too-fast miles per hour right now.

Instead, he nods and suddenly finds the buttons and dials on the panel in front of him very fascinating. Oh look, that one’s for elevation!

So now they’re running right next to each other. It’s all very cute except for the part where he’s practically wheezing and Steve is outstripping him in an embarrassing way. Is a nod at the same level as a hi? Shit, he forgot to smile. He probably looked like some kind of terrified animal, nodding spastically and then immediately cutting his attention away. He deserves to wheeze.

Having Steve right next to him does make him more conscious of his form, though. Can’t look like a total shlub with the object of his bizarre affections right next to him. He asked for permission. There’s a few other things Bucky’d like to give him permission to do. And that is not a good train of thought to be on while running, Barnes. Clean up your act.

He only looks over directly one time. Steve’s looking off past him, just barely breaking a sweat. Bucky thinks, _That man is not of this earth._

Eventually Bucky’s had enough torture for one day, physical and emotional. He walks through a cool-down cycle like a good egg, but then he splits right out of there without so much as a backwards glance at Apollo over there. It’s time for a nice, cold shower.

Clean and dressed in street clothes, Bucky gathers up his bag and heads for the locker room door. Just as he’s pushing it open, someone yanks the door handle. The combined force whips the thing open, revealing none other than Steve. Bucky stands there panicking gently. For the instant that he sees him, Steve looks just as stunned. Then the door swings back closed in Bucky’s face.

He briefly considers ducking back into one of the shower stalls (What Bucky where? No Bucky here, sorry) before the door opens again. This time Steve is holding it open, smiling broadly at Bucky like he’s just heard the joke of his damn life.

“Sorry about that,” he says. He sweeps one arm out grandly. “After you.”

Bucky regains his composure enough to actually smile at the guy, though his face feels a bit like a big bowl of mashed potatoes right now. “Thanks,” he says as he walks through. He can only hold Steve’s gaze for so long, but damn are his eyes blue. Benefits of not creepily observing someone from a distance: You get to know what color their eyes are. He ducks around Steve, holding onto the strap of his bag for dear life.

“My pleasure,” Steve says. Bucky glances over his shoulder at him, and Steve’s still got that too-big radiant smile plastered all over his face. Sunshine like that’s contagious, so he gives a little wave and smiles right back.

 _‘Hi’ my big left toe_ , Bucky thinks. This is an unprecedented advancement. He may have peaked in that moment.

Actually, legitimately may have peaked: He comes down with something the next day and ends up bed-ridden for a week, trying not to hack up a lung.

Natasha calls him after three days. He picks up very reluctantly.

“Where have you been, James?” she says icily. She has resolutely refused to call him Bucky after finding out that it’s only a nickname.

Bucky coughs in response, milking it for more than it’s really worth to get his point across.

“Oh,” Natasha says with something almost like concern for his wellbeing. “I assumed the only reason you would miss class would be if you were dead. Apparently, I was correct.”

“That you were,” Bucky slurs. The cold medicine’s made him more than a little loopy.

“I hope you feel better. See you soon.”

Bucky would smile if his face didn’t feel like it were falling off. “Thanks, Natasha, I really appreciate it.”

“Any time,” she says before disconnecting. Bucky still can’t tell if Natasha is actually his friend or not, but it’s nice of her to be concerned enough to call. Or pissed off enough. Either way, she thought about him and that’s nice. Friendship is a wild ride.

It takes a full week for him to recover from the Devil’s Cold. When he feels well enough to return to the gym, he knows there’s no way he can even touch a treadmill. More fumbling interaction with Steve will have to wait till he doesn’t get winded from taking the stairs up to his apartment.

In the locker room after a slow-paced workout, he’s lacing up his shoes when the door opens. Bucky glances up and freezes with half a loop in his hands. A faintly gleaming triangle has just walked through the door. Steve notices him immediately, because of course he does.

“Hey!” he says, way too loud for the small space. “Look at us, we’re learning how to take turns with the door.”

Something in Bucky’s brain briefly short-circuits. _Look at us!_ The dude’s joking with him, lumping them into a plural, referencing an instance that happened nearly two weeks ago. Steve remembered him. Hence the short-circuit: his brain’s not sure what to do with this information.

“Haha, yeah,” Bucky says and then immediately hates himself for it. Truly an astounding level of eloquence. Steve smiles at him anyway because he’s polite, reaching into a locker.

“So do you not actually live here?” Steve asks over his shoulder.

“What?” Bucky says, dumbfounded because 1) why is Steve still talking to him 2) what does that question mean and 3) what.

Steve ducks his head, catching his hand on the back of his neck. He turns around to face Bucky, gym bag in the hand not gently caressing his own neck. “I just meant – I feel like you’re always here. I always see you when I’m here. But then you … weren’t here, for a while, so I guess you don’t actually live here like I’d thought.”

And that is … a lot to process. Let’s break it down: Not only did Steve notice Bucky, he noticed him enough to recognize that they always end up at the gym at the same times. Enough to theorize that Bucky lives here (which, ha, great minds think alike, pal). He also noticed when Bucky wasn’t around and thought about it enough to conclude that he doesn’t in fact live here and now he’s making a joke about all of it to Bucky’s face. Is there air in this room? No one just like, cut off the air supply to the locker room, right?

Bucky laughs for a few seconds of cover, looking down at the neat laces of his shoes. “No, I don’t live here,” he says, trusting himself enough now to look back up at the other man. “I probably would if they let me, though.”

Steve goes wide-eyed for a moment and breathes a concerned, “Oh.”

It takes Bucky three solid seconds to recognize what he’s said. “Oh! No! I don’t mean that I’m like, homeless or anything. Jesus. It’d just be more convenient.”

“Oh,” Steve says again, startled. Then he laughs that golden bells laugh, deep in his chest like Bucky’s the funniest person in the whole world. Which, who’s to say he’s not, but it’s not like what he just said was particularly funny. Bucky laughs a little too, if only out of nerves more than anything else.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you have a roof over your head,” Steve says. “My name’s Steve, by the way.” It’s only as Steve extends his hand for a shake that Bucky remembers that he isn’t actually supposed to know his name, if the rules of polite non-creepy social interaction are applied. Right.

He takes Steve’s hand and his stomach turns over like … something that turns over, his brain isn’t working too well right now. “I’m Bucky,” he manages before pulling his hand back.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky,” Steve says warmly, like he means it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Steve,” Bucky parrots before hopping up and skittering right out of the locker room before he bursts into flames. Steve’s name lingers in his mouth. He as good as skips all the way back to his apartment building.

He skips his rest day. Their next few interactions are limited to half-smiles and awkward waves from across the gym, because Bucky refuses to run regularly just so he can be in closer proximity to some guy. Sometimes Steve looks like he might approach him, but Bucky always scoots before he has the chance to find out.

On a bright and sunny Thursday afternoon, Natasha drops a bomb on him.

It’s the first class of hers he’s been to since he spoke to Steve for the first time. His flexibility has come a long way in these few weeks, so much so that’s he’s kind of proud of how much he has improved. He might be ready to move up to the more advanced classes, which is exciting. Yoga. Who’d have thought?

He and Natasha leave class together, headed for the coffee shop again. As they’re coming down the stairs, Steve spots him from his treadmill and gives a jovial wave. That guy never has to focus on his own two feet when he’s running, which is a level of coordination Bucky never hopes to achieve. Bucky waves back, glancing over to Natasha to see her … smiling?

“I see you’ve finally met Steve,” she says, which. What?

“Steve?”

She rolls her eyes in a complete circuit. “The guy at whom you just waved? Or have you taken to waving at strangers now? I can’t say I condone that.”

They’re out on the street by this point. Bucky turns to face her, stopping dead in the middle of the sidewalk. “You know Steve?”

She rolls her eyes again. “We work together.”

Brow collapsing over his eyes, he asks, “Work together?”

“Did you think I only worked at the gym? It’s part-time, James. Can I afford this city's rent on a part-time job?” Her tone is flat but her eyebrows are incredibly condescending.

“Where else do you work?” he asks, avoiding the more pressing questions.

She looks askance. “Classified.”

He pauses, looking at her face for a long time to detect any hint of joking. There is none. “Shit,” he mumbles, turning to walk again.

“I would tell you if I could,” she assures him. “Massive NDA.”

“No, it’s okay,” he says. They keep quiet till they reach the coffee shop. Natasha gets her usual black coffee, and Bucky opts for one of the seasonal drinks this time. Drinks in hand, they sit.

“So you know Steve,” he says, frowning thoughtfully at the lid of his drink.

“I do,” she says. “I’ve known him for a long time.”

He hums a tacit reply, taking a slow sip of his drink. He looks up to see her staring right into him again.

“I was wondering when you two would stop making eyes at each other from across the floor and actually speak to one another,” she says, punctuating her sentence with a sip of coffee.

“What?” Bucky says, because what. Since when has Steve ever made eyes at him? This is a one-sided situation and Steve had never once glanced in his direction till the thing with the door. Right? Right.

“Are you blind, James?” Natasha snaps. It’s less of a question than an accusation.

“No? What are you even talking about?” Bucky sputters.

“Playing the middleman is dreadfully dull,” she says. “If you would really like to know, I think you should ask Steve yourself.” She downs the rest of her coffee, springs up from her seat, and turns towards the door. “I’ll see you in class, by which point I expect you to have dislodged that egghead of yours from your own ass.”

Egghead? That’s mean, Natasha. She twirls away and is out the door before Bucky can so much as blink.

What is she even talking about, Steve making eyes at him? Does he make eyes at Steve? He’s been very disciplined in keeping his staring incredibly neutral, no pining about it. Maybe he’s not as aloof as he thought. Or maybe Natasha is actually a mind-reader, like he suspects. It would certainly explain a great deal.

But that’s a diversionary train of thought: Has Steve been staring at him? Do they both just have terrible timing that they never happen to be staring at each other at the same time? A mutual distant affection would explain the locker room scene, and why Steve always seems so happy to wave at him now. But … no. No way. There’s no way someone like that, someone who’s all sunshine and diamonds, would ever pine after someone like Bucky, all fluorescent lighting and cubic zirconium. He’s just some dude, some guy who goes to the gym too much and frowns at the carpet. That’s not interesting. That wouldn’t hold the attention of someone like Steve. Not a chance in hell.

He takes a long sip of his coffee. It’s depressingly lukewarm.

But Natasha isn’t the kind of person who’s wrong, who misreads situations. And if what she says is true, if she really does know Steve, then what reason does he have to doubt her? Mercurial as she may be, he doesn’t think she would lie to him. Not about this, at any rate. They’re friends.

Maybe he will have to ask Steve about this. Great, Natasha, thanks.

He avoids the gym the next day, because of muscle fatigue (the excuse) and nerves (the truth). The day after that, though, he shows up with a vague plan. The plan consists mostly of this: Tell Steve he also knows Natasha and see what happens. Foolproof, really.

Steve’s there when he walks in, small-talking the lady at the front desk more animatedly than anyone has a right to small-talk. When he catches sight of Bucky, he pivots and cranks his smile up to full wattage.

“Hey, Bucky! Fancy meeting you here,” Steve says, as if this isn’t the only place they’ve ever seen each other. Bucky still grins like it’s the pinnacle of comedy because he’s a dope with a massive, terrible crush. And that’s what one does.

“Hi, Steve, what’s up?” Bucky says. As he signs in, he’s all too aware of how close Steve stands, waiting for him.

“Weight machines today? Or are you disappearing to the second floor? Or,” Steve gasps dramatically, “are you going to run today?”

Shit, alright. He’ll play along. “Is it that obvious how much I hate it?” he asks, grimacing.

Steve grins impossibly wider. “Only if someone were to look at you.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Bucky says dejectedly.

Steve’s brow knits together, his mouth twitching down concernedly. He reaches one hand towards Bucky like he’s going to grab his shoulder, but his hand falls to his side in the last instant. Bucky feels his face turn infinitesimally more dejected. “Not that you look bad,” Steve covers, “I can just tell you don’t enjoy it.”

Bucky shakes his head, breaking out of the sudden seriousness. “Well, pal, I think the winner of the Boston Marathon’d look like he doesn’t enjoy running next to you.”

Golden bells, and lord if Bucky couldn’t live off that sound. “I’ll own up to that,” Steve says.

“No one should love cardio that much. It’s sickening.”

“It’s an acquired taste.”

“Wine is an acquired taste. Cardio is the universe’s cruelest joke,” Bucky grumbles.

“Okay, okay, we’ll agree to disagree,” Steve placates, hands up at chest-level in surrender. They’re standing now at the divide in the floor between the cardio equipment and everything else. As much as Bucky would love to keep talking to Steve, there’s no way he can get on a treadmill after all of that. That’d be downright shameful.

Steve scuffs his shoe against the floor, glancing between Bucky and his beloved treadmill. “Well, I guess I’ll –“ he says, jerking a thumb towards the equipment.

“Yeah,” Bucky huffs, turning towards the arm pull-down machine thing. He walks about three feet before turning to call over his shoulder. “Hey, Steve?”

The guy turns around fast enough to give _Bucky_ whiplash. Careful there, pal. “Yeah, Bucky?”

“Do you know Natasha?” Bucky asks, nodding towards the second floor.

“Oh,” Steve puffs. He takes a step towards Bucky. “Yeah, we’re old friends.”

“She’s cool,” Bucky blurts.

“Yeah, she is,” Steve says, frowning just a bit but with his entire face. The guy’s got a wide range. Bucky pivots towards the weight machines without another word. He doesn’t look at Steve for the rest of his workout.

Natasha doesn’t even wait till after class the next day. So much giving up being the middleman.

“Did you talk to Steve?”

“I did,” Bucky says.

“And?” she prompts. There’s something like excitement dancing behind her almost-smile.

“And nothing.”

“Dammit, Barnes.”

They hold plank for a torturously long time during class that day.

After class Bucky lingers in the studio, working out a few places that were extra tight today. Natasha gives him quiet while she packs away her things at the front of the room. He’s lying on the floor in corpse pose, eyes closed, when he hears the door creak open. He assumes it’s Natasha leaving until he hears her speak.

“James, I believe you have a visitor,” she purrs. Who in the – ?

Bucky’s eyes snap open to find – Steve. He stands a few feet from Bucky, still bundled up in a coat. Bucky jerks up into a seated position so quickly his head starts swimming.

“I was hoping to catch you in here,” Steve says, not quite smiling down at him.

“Bye, boys,” Natasha says as she heads towards the door. “Don’t desecrate the studio.”

Red rises over Steve’s face like the sun. Bucky coughs roughly.

“Can I talk to you?” Steve asks once the door swings shut after Natasha. There’s some tight resolve about him, his brow pinched together. Bucky yearns to reach up and smooth out that crease with his thumb.

Instead, he just nods and says, “Yeah, um. Just a second.” He moves off his mat to roll it up, then stands and takes the mat to the storage shelves in the corner. Done, he turns to face Steve, who looks thoroughly unnerved. Bucky wonders what made Steve find him here rather than just out on the floor.

“You know, I’ve never been in here,” Steve says, firmly avoiding looking at Bucky.

“Really? I would’ve thought Natasha’d forced you into a class at some point.”

Steve smiles faintly, but his mouth’s all wobbly. What’s his deal? “She’s tried, but I’m stubborn.”

Bucky huffs a soft laugh. “You might like it. I didn’t think I would, but I do.”

Steve finally looks him in the eyes, hands planted on hips. Everything about him is all wobbly, like he might rattle right out of his own skin. Bucky’s feels a bit bad about thinking it’s nice to see the guy unraveled. “So,” he says. He waves one hand towards Steve, inviting him to speak. He’s not going to let him pretend he just sought Bucky out up here for small talk about their mutual friend.

“Right,” Steve says, visibly gathering himself. “So you’re friends with Natasha.”

Bucky nods, mouth pressing into a tight line.

“She says we’re both idiots,” Steve says. His hands migrate from his hips to cover his face. What’s that all about?

“Well, I know I’m an idiot,” Bucky says, “but what makes you qualified for the position?”

Steve peeks out at him from between his fingers, blue eyes glinting under the fluorescents, and shit if that ain’t the cutest thing Bucky’s ever seen. He leans back against the wall, affecting a casual posture when in reality his knees have just gone a bit weak.

“Apparently we’ve both been staring at each other for weeks and she’s the only one who’s noticed,” Steve confesses, dropping his hands from his face and immediately shoving them deep into the pockets of his coat.

“Oh, is that so?” Bucky asks airily. Half his breath has left his lungs.

Steve blinks rapidly. “Oh, I’m – I didn’t mean to – sorry, I –“

Bucky pushes away from the wall, closes the distance between them with three long steps. They’re close enough to touch now, if they wanted to. “Steve, it’s okay,” he murmurs. “I kind of have been staring at you.”

Steve’s mouth contorts into something that half-wants to be a smile, half-wants to be a frown. “Really?” he asks, like the idea of it is so wildly farfetched. No, pal, you’ve got it backwards.

“Really,” Bucky says, heart thundering. “In like, a really creepy way.”

Steve shakes out a laugh, head turning down. He reaches up his hand to rub at the back of his neck before looking back up to Bucky.

“Bet you weren’t as creepy as me,” Steve says. Bucky’s mouth goes dry. Jesus. Natasha was right.

“I’ll let you have that title if you really want it, pal,” Bucky says. Steve laughs a loud peal, head falling back to look at the ceiling.

“We really are idiots then, aren’t we? Natasha was right.”

“I’m beginning to think Natasha is always right,” Bucky says. Steve smiles at him, all sunshine, and Bucky smiles right back, moonlight.

“So how about we stop staring at each other across the gym floor, and instead we can stare at each other across a table at dinner,” Bucky says. Welcome back, game, we’re all glad to see you make your shining return.

Steve reaches out, taking Bucky’s right hand in his left. They both look down at their fingers interlaced for a beat before glancing back up to lock eyes. Steve gives his hand a squeeze, then says,

“There’s nothing I’d like more.”

Problem solved.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for #SoftStuckyWeek2016.
> 
> Title comes from Mitski's song by the same name ([listen to it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9yfLGT_ozQ), I love her forever).
> 
> Thank you for reading! I welcome any and all comments (unless it's mean in which case I don't welcome it, but it's still your right to say it, so). You can find me over on ye olde tumblr @ bvckyisms if you want to say hi!


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